


Talent Doesn't Skip a Generation

by fictorium



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium





	Talent Doesn't Skip a Generation

"So." Stevie begins, but Daisy's glare makes her falter. "This is going to sound kind of weird, but I heard your office was maybe the one place in this building that a girl could score a little weed."

"Not anymore. And you don't have clearance to read at least half of what's in those drawers."

"Right." Stevie steps away, hands raised and face flushed at being busted so damn easily. "It's just not like I can hit up some old college buddies, you know? I mean, I'm crashing with some friends but that... well. I guess you never know who's going to splash your shit all over the press, right?"

"That's smart," Daisy agrees, reclaiming her desk chair and watching Stevie slink towards the exit. "You know, I should give you a lecture about using your access to the Secretary to sneak in here like this."

"But you're not going to?"

"No," Daisy admits, picking up a piece of paper and frowning at it, before sighing deeply. "Do you ever wonder how you just get... caught up in something? Like it's five months down the line and you realize nobody ever stopped to ask what you actually wanted?"

Stevie snorts. She can't help it.

"You have met my family, right? I didn't want to go to that college or study those subjects, but when your parents are academic rockstars, it's no way, no how. Throw in this gig and I'm basically never going to have free will again. I should get going. You have real work to do..."

"Stevie?" Daisy calls her back just as she's crossing the office threshold. "You still have my number from the other week, right?"

"Sure."

"Text me your address, at your friend's. I know some guys who can discreetly... it's a pro-legalization kit, basically. But it works."

"Wow, seriously? You're kind of the best."

"Tell me about it. You're home tonight?"

"Yeah. I will be."

***

Stevie rushes to answer the knock at the front door like she did all the times she was trying to head off letters from her schools to her parents. Whether skipped homework or the occasional tumbling grade, she'd almost always been able to keep the worst of it hidden.

So when she opens the door, Daisy is sort of the last person she's expecting to see.

"Is there somewhere we can talk? Your room, maybe?"

"If this is some kind of intervention--"

"Delivery. Like I promised. But not where people can see, okay?"

Stevie shrugs, and leads the way upstairs to the smallest room in the house. It's not exactly what she's used to, but there's almost enough closet space to make it bearable. And hey, limited room is just a great excuse to leave things on the floor.

She kicks at a few pieces of clothing with sudden shame as Daisy takes in the room, closing the door behind them.

"Wyn left a bunch of this crap at my house, and I don't really... well. Are you super attached to the traditional joint? Because if not there's a lot of fun in here. Cakes, gum, the vaping oil stuff? I don't really listen, but everyone seems to say this is the real deal."

"I could kiss you right now!" Stevie squeals, relieved beyond measure that she won't have to get high shivering at the kitchen door in December. "Oh, but I guess that would make your life even more complicated." Off Daisy's wounded look, she backpedals. "Sorry. Blake talks. I mean, he doesn't talk, talk. But sometimes he tells me things just so I'll stop asking questions."

"Right. For high-ranking diplomats, our office kind of sucks at discretion."

"Tell me about it. Like when you were all calling me the 'hidden daughter' and speculating on whether I had some teen pregnancy or prostitution bust that meant I had to be Harry Potter under the stairs."

"No one thought that--"

"It's okay. I've heard worse. People don't seem to get that fame-by-proximity is optional. They think I'm crazy for not wanting to be some Beltway Kardashian."

"That is the single most terrifying term I have ever heard. And my weekly briefings include beheadings, Stevie."

"Happy to help," Stevie mutters, rooting around in one of the bags as politely as she can. "I'm not sure what the etiquette is here, but do you want to stay and get high with me? I'm sure I can find a volunteer in the house, but it's kinda sad doing it alone."

"I don't--"

"Never?"

Daisy shakes her head.

"Is there random drug testing in your department?"

"No, but..."

"Hey, I'm just offering," Stevie liberates a solid lump of pot brownie from its elaborate packaging. "If you have somewhere you need to be. Like, with the geeky speechwriter dude..."

"Matt? Yeah. That's not happening. Not tonight."

"You want to talk about it while I get slowly wasted?" Stevie sits on the end of her bed and pats the space next to it for Daisy. Somewhere in all this weirdness it's become a competition. Goddammit, she wants someone -- but Daisy most of all -- to like her as a person and not the adjunct fucking pet of their boss. A Golden Retriever might get more respect, and that's not even the worst part about it.

No, Stevie keeps a lot of secrets in her life. It's easy, when you're just shielding things from your tutors who think one of your parents is a rockstar, but when Mommy is in the papers twice a day, every day, the stakes are a little bit fucking scary.

Especially when you're a girl who likes kissing other girls and there's no way to tell those rockstar parents, because they'll most likely say it's fine while calculating PR damage, or worse yet start using you as some kind of liberal standard-bearing whiffle bat to beat their opponents on the head with. Subtly, of course.

So if she wants Daisy to like her? Yeah. Maybe it's something a little more complicated. Maybe it's about getting with the girl everyone else wants to get with. And maybe, just maybe, it's about reaching out to this stunning and brilliant woman who walks through conference rooms like catwalks, and saying _you don't have to settle for these jackasses anymore_.

Daisy sits. Stevie tries to remind herself that crushing on straight girls is a stupid way to waste her time. It's hard to hear the thought over her gaydar pinging mildly at the way Daisy's looking at her right now, even though Stevie is wearing nothing fancier than tight black jeans and a white tank top. It's less than casualwear to Daisy in her Prada tailoring. 

"Wyn didn't fight for me," Daisy sighs. "The day you got trapped at the office? He and Matt started squabbling over me like toddlers at the sandbox. It seems like they decided who I wanted to be with before I ever got a chance to weigh in on the matter."

"You give back the ring?" Stevie asks before biting off a hearty chunk of brownie. 

"I tried. He said I should keep it."

"Rich assholes," Stevie snorts, before holding up her other hand. "I know, I know. Not exactly a child of poverty here."

"Matt is already leaving documents on my desk for me to sign. He's so desperate to make me officially his that I'm surprised he hasn't peed in a circle around my desk yet."

"I almost peed myself _at_ your desk when you walked in earlier," Stevie sighs. "Can I get you a drink, at least? There's a cooler right here in the corner, so..."

"You only have beer, right?"

"I'm a student. Ex-student. Newly liberated something... and I haven't stolen any decent wine from work lately. The beer's imported, at least?"

Daisy nods, squeezing the fingers of her left hand in a 'gimme' gesture. With an awkward dip sideways, Stevie retrieves two bottles of Kronenbourg and twists the cap off one before handing it to Daisy. She does the same with her own and they settle back against the wall in unexpected synchrony. 

"Screw Matt," Daisy sighs after a long pull on the bottle. "I'm not some carnival prize he won by knocking down bottles. And Wyn is not some bottle. I was going to marry him."

"Lucky you."

"What about you?" Daisy turns that pressroom focus on Stevie, and she squirms. "The Service guys say you've been signing in dates at home. That's promising, right?"

"That's helping out your kid sister," Stevie corrects. "And don't rat me out, either. I got even at my mom without having to risk anything, you know. It was nice to exert a little power, is all."

"Why are you so mad at your mom?"

"The United States government does not sanction torture."

"I don't think I want to know what comes next." Daisy doesn't let up on the scrutiny, but when Stevie takes another bite of brownie, her fingers are breaking a clump of baked chocolate from the other side. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

Stevie clenches between her thighs, but resists the urge to say anything at first. 

"Sounds like a game of 'Never Ever'." Off Daisy's quizzical look. "You go round confessing one cool or scandalous act you've never actually tried. Everyone else who has, takes a shot. Like, 'never have I ever been with a woman', for example."

Daisy watches for a long moment, before raising her drink quite deliberately to her lips and letting the pale liquid flow past. Stevie swallows, hard. 

"Technically, you should be drinking for that one, too. Right?" Daisy offers it as a challenge. This is no time to get bogged down in the rules. "I mean, I'm just guessing from the way you look at me that maybe with other women you're attracted to, you've done more."

Stevie nods, struck dumb, and takes a hearty swig of her own drink. It's all the answer she knows how to summon at that point.

"It would be a bad idea for me to make a move on the boss's daughter," Daisy murmurs, and holy fucking hell when did they get so close to one another? "Especially with all those complications we've been talking about."

"Well," Stevie finally manages to choke out. "One. There's no reason to tell said boss. Two. I'm willing to bet, right now, that I'm a better kisser than any complications. Wanna take that bet?"

Daisy, really, really does. Those insanely gorgeous lips, full and pillowy are almost instantly meeting with Stevie's own. Maybe the brownie falls on the comforter somewhere, and maybe it's a weird unseeing scramble to get both of their half-filled bottles onto a flat surface, but by the time all of that is dealt with there's some pretty full-blown making out going on.

"So?" Stevie asks, when they reluctantly break long enough to lie all the way down on her bed, Daisy hooking one leg over Stevie being the first indication that her killer heels have been kicked off. "Who wins?"

"I didn't actually take the bet," Daisy points out. "But I'm pretty sure we're both winning."

"We'll be winning even more once I get that blouse off you," Stevie replies, fingertips straining to do exactly that. "Unless it's too complicated?"

"Nope," Daisy decides, kissing her way along Stevie's jaw until she captures her lips once more. "Sounds perfectly simple to me."


End file.
